In the quiet hours of dusk, he stands,
A guardian strong, with weathered hands.
His eyes, like beacons, guiding light,
Through stormy seas and darkest night.
In childhood dreams, he's a towering tree,
Whose branches shelter, whose roots run deep.
With whispered wisdom, he imparts,
Lessons learned from his own heart.
In laughter shared and tears embraced,
He molds the path where futures are traced.
A steady presence through life's storm,
A compass guiding, ever warm.
His laughter echoes, a melody sweet,
His words of comfort, a soothing beat.
Through victories won and battles lost,
His love remains, no matter the cost.
He teaches courage, in quiet ways,
And kindness, in the words he says.
His strength, a fortress, unbending, true,
A beacon of hope in skies of blue.
So here's to fathers, both young and old,
Whose love and guidance, a treasure untold.
In their embrace, we find our home,
In their hearts, we're never alone.
About the Creator
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
Comments (3)
This is powerful, thank you for sharing this.
nice one here
Beautiful and poignant!